OF FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS

 

I come from generations of poor peasants. I was born and raised in Croatia to Catholic parents. I remember the wheat fields I ran through, the shepherds and the animals they led to pasture, the Easter of spring and the Christmas of winter. I have not been back there for thirty years now. I don’t know that my heart could take it.

My father was the ultimate patriarch in our home and what he said was law. He was raised that way. He was the oldest of five sons in a small village and as was custom, he was expected to take over the family land and inherit the care of his parents in their old age. My father, however, did not see it that way. He didn’t want the village life so he procured an apprenticeship as a bricklayer in the neighbouring town. My grandfather was furious. He threw a chunk of bread on the floor in front of my father and told him that was the only thing he will ever get from him. Very dramatic…. No support for the path my father had chosen.  My father walked for miles every day, even in the rain, to the town where he worked. No bus for him.

My father had vision. When I was just a toddler he decided to move us to the city where his children would have more opportunities. Unfortunately, the country was part of Yugoslavia back then, under the socialist rule, and the only good opportunities that existed were reserved for anyone who belonged to the communist party. When I was on the cusp of my teenage years, my father’s vision extended all the way to Australia. I was two months shy of turning 14 when we arrived in Sydney. At 16 I was out working in an office and at 17 I went looking for a religion that could answer all the questions that the Catholic Church couldn’t.

I found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints  in my local library. I inhaled all that I read and I knew I had to be a part of it. There was just one problem. My father decided to be HIS father. The ultimatum was given: to join the Church, I would have to leave home.  My father was beyond crushed when I left.  He did not expect that. My parents would not speak to me for a whole year. We reconciled through the efforts of my sister and a few years thereafter they went back to Croatia.

Since the time I was baptized 50 years ago, I have reflected a lot on that stressful period of my life when I was cut off from my family.  The repercussions of that event in my life have been more than I care to admit. Luckily, the benefits outweighed the sacrifice. My parents have long since passed away and I am still reaping the benefits of my Church membership. I have gone from grace to grace and been brought to higher ground of faith than I had ever imagined was possible. I have forged my own path. 

I have cried ancestral tears over my father since his passing. I have nothing but love and gratitude for him. At the time of our distress when I rejected his word as my law, he was a migrant in a new country and his favourite daughter was, in his eyes, joining a cult. He was trying to protect me. When I think of him, I see him as a little boy in a Croatian village with more than his share of family baggage and generations of incorrect programming. I love that little boy and want to hug him, now more than ever.

When in the realms of heaven I meet my father again, I will thank him for wanting to protect me but most of all I will thank him for his example of bravery in defying his father which I subconsciously followed and which led me into the arms of the Father I love above all and who aches to have us both return to Him . We will then meet at Jesus’ feet and we will remember the time that hurt us both the most but did not divide us forever.

Your life has come and gone

But your footprints remain

And your blood courses through my veins.

The flame of your sacrifices

Burns bright with all its might;

Your legacy, your love,

Your fatherly alms:

Forever etched

In the hollow of my heart.

- CATHRYNE ALLEN 

(Art: Love of the Father by Ilse Kleyn - Fine Art of America)